Teeth | Agatha All Along

07

"Dahlia."

The sound of her name, spoken in Agatha's familiar voice, pierced the air, filled with a mixture of confusion, anger, and something softer, something that made Dahlia's heart ache.

"Agatha," Dahlia responded, her voice barely a whisper, as if the weight of the moment threatened to crush her.

But then another voice joined them, smooth, teasing, and dripping with mischief.

"Dahlia."

She turned, her eyes landing on Rio, who looked back at her with that smirk—the smirk that could undo her, that had always undone her.

"Rio."

The three of them stood in a tense, charged circle, their gazes shifting from one to the other, each woman's expression a mix of emotions too complex to name. Agatha's brows furrowed, her eyes darting between Dahlia and Rio, the question evident in her gaze.

"You know... her?" Agatha asked, her voice strained, disbelief coloring her tone as she looked from Dahlia to Rio, as though trying to piece together a puzzle she hadn't realized existed.

Dahlia felt her throat tighten. She glanced at Agatha, then back at Rio, the memories flooding her mind in a torrent she couldn't stop.

"We're... familiar," Dahlia said carefully, the word feeling both inadequate and painfully accurate.

Rio's smirk deepened as she stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with that familiar dark amusement, "Familiar is a bit of an understatement, don't you think, flor?"

She reached out, her fingers gently toying with a strand of Dahlia's blonde hair, letting it slide through her fingers with an intimacy that made Dahlia's heart race.

Agatha's expression hardened, a flicker of jealousy sparking in her gaze as she watched Rio's hand linger in Dahlia's hair.

"I see," She murmured, her voice tight, though there was a vulnerability there, too, something raw and unguarded that Dahlia hadn't seen in years.

Dahlia swallowed, feeling the weight of her connection to each of them, the love, the regret, the longing that spanned centuries. She looked at Agatha, memories flooding her mind—memories of how young and frightened she had been when they had first met, of the way Agatha had seen her, had loved her, had shown her a side of herself she hadn't known existed. She remembered the way Agatha's touch had made her feel safe, even as it had terrified her. And she remembered how she had left, too scared of the intensity between them, too afraid of the pain she was certain would follow if she allowed herself to stay.

Agatha's gaze softened as it met Dahlia's, a flicker of that old love, that old longing, shining through the hurt and betrayal. She remembered, too—Dahlia could see it in her eyes. She remembered the nights they had spent together, the whispered promises, the vulnerability they had shared. She remembered baring her heart to Dahlia, only to watch her leave without a word, leaving Agatha to pick up the pieces alone.

But Rio... Rio was different.

Dahlia looked at Rio, her heart tightening as memories of their tumultuous relationship flooded her mind. They had met seemingly by accident, but nothing with Rio had ever truly been accidental. Their love had been a dance of passion and pain, an on-and-off affair that had spanned decades, filled with stolen moments and bittersweet goodbyes. Rio had always known her too well, had always seen the parts of her that she tried to hide. And Rio had loved her, had accepted her, flaws and all, in a way that made Dahlia's heart ache even now.

"Didn't tell her about us, did you?" Rio murmured, her voice low and teasing, her fingers tracing the curve of Dahlia's cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.